Page 140 of What Should Have Been Ours

* * *

The apartment is quiet except for the soft murmur of voices around me.

Everyone is here.

Gabrielle is curled against me, her fingers laced with mine—the thread pulling me back as the tide tries to take me. Wes sits in the chair beside the bed, jaw clenched and eyes glazed over. Kinsley, curled up on the couch, eyes rimmed red from crying, still forces small smiles when she looks at me.

And my parents…

My mom is kneeling beside me, her hand on my cheek, her thumb tracing soft circles like she used to when I was a kid and couldn’t sleep. Her other hand grips my father’s, holding on like he’s the only thing keeping her together.

My dad stands stiff beside her, his face carved from stone, but his eyes—God, his eyes give him away. He swallows hard, staring at me like he’s trying to burn the image of me into his memory. Like if he blinks, I’ll be gone.

I’m so grateful for the parents I have. They’ve never left my side. They’ve always been there for me. Always loved me. Always showed me what unconditional, real, raw love was. I wish I could repay them for the life they gave me. Even while this disease was trying to take me from them since the age of three, they made sure my life was a good one. They never let it define me.

I wish I could tell them how thankful I am and how sorry I am for leaving. But I’m too weak for the words right now.

I hope they know.

Gabrielle’s hand tightens around mine, her fingers trembling.

I want to hold her the way I used to, kiss away every fear, whisper to her that I’m not going anywhere. But we both know that’s not how this story ends. So instead, I squeeze her hand as tightly as I can, though my grip is weak, barely there.

I hate that, too. I hate that I can’t hold onto her any longer.

But she doesn’t let go. She continues to give me the strength I don’t have.

* * *

No one is talking anymore, but there’s a weight in the air, heavy and thick, pressing down on all of us. The kind of silence that only exists when people are waiting for something inevitable. Waiting for the end. My end.

My body is shutting down fast. My limbs feel like lead, my vision is fading in and out, and every breath feels harder than the last.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s scary.

Wes clears his throat, but his voice is hoarse and breaks when he speaks. “You—uh, you comfortable, Bud?”

It’s such a simple question. Such a stupid one. But it’s the only way he knows how to ask what he really means.

Are you in pain?

Are you scared?

Are you ready?

I nod as best as I can.

He just nods, looking away.

My mom lets out a shaky breath, brushing her fingers through my hair. “You’ve always been so strong, baby,” she whispers. “My sweet boy.”

Tears spill down her cheeks, and my dad finally moves, finally kneels beside her, his big, calloused hand wrapping around mine.

“I’m proud of you, son.” His voice is rough, thick with all the things he’s too strong to say. “So damn proud.”

I try to hold onto that. Onto them.

Then Gabrielle shifts beside me, pressing her forehead against mine. Her breaths are shaky. “I love you,” she whispers.